Something shifts in his expression. His jaw tightens. He stands up, unfolding to his full height. He must be 6'5. A giant next to Corey and Dylan.
Names? He says to the boys. What? Corey asks. Your names?
Now? We don't have to tell you anything, Dylan says, but his voice shakes. Another biker steps forward. Younger muscled with tattoos crawling up his neck. He asked nice.
I won't. Cory swallows hard. Cory Finch. That's my brother Dylan. Finch.
The older biker repeats. Judge Finch's boys. They nod. Well, Finch boys, you just earned yourselves a world of trouble. He points to the school.
Start walking. Don't look back. They hesitate. The tattooed biker takes one step toward them. They run.
The gray bearded man kneels beside me again. I'm Hawk. What's your name, son? Eli, I say, my lip is still bleeding. Eli Barnes.
You hurt bad, Eli. I do a quick assessment. Just bruises, maybe a cut. Hawk nods. He gestures.
And another biker brings my wheelchair over. They check it for damage. Wheels bent, the tattooed man says. Can you fix it, Pat? Hawk asks.
Patch examines the wheel closely. Yeah, but not here. Hawk turns back to me. We need to get you home, Eli. Where do you live?
Maple Street. The apartment's behind the mat. Hawk nods. He looks at me for a long moment. I'm going to pick you up now.
That okay. No one's carried me since I was 8. I hate it. But my chair is broken and the ground is cold. Okay, I say.
His arms slide under me, gentle but strong. He lifts me like I weigh nothing. My breath catches at the sudden movement. Easy, he says. His voice is gruff but kind.
I've got you. He carries me to my chair. The wheel is wobbling, but Patch has straightened it enough to work. It'll hold until we get him home, Patch says. Sirens wail in the distance.
Someone called the police. Hawk, one of the other bikers, warns. I hear it, Hawk says. We're not leaving the boy. The police car pulls into the school parking lot, lights flash, the door opens, and Deputy Hargrove steps out.
He surveys the scene, hand resting on his holster. "What's going on here? " he asks, his eyes narrow at the bikers. "Kid was attacked. " Hawk says, "We stepped in. " Deputy Hargrove looks at me, then back at the biker. And why are the hell angels suddenly concerned with schoolyard fights? It wasn't a fight, Patch says.
His voice is tight. It was two against one, and he's in a wheelchair. Deputy Hargro's radio crack. An ambulance is on its way. The Finch boys claim you threatened them, he says to her.
They beat a disabled child. Hawk says each word is precise, measured. They're lucky threats are all they got. Deputy Hargrove steps closer. We don't need your kind of justice in this town, Jensen.